A grand slam for charity

Baseball club to play at Whataburger Field, raise money for Miracle League

It started as a way to get the guys together, relive old times, recapture a bit of youth and play some baseball.

Now, the No Bats Baseball Club has turned into a charitable venture, one that has raised -- by the members' count -- more than $600,000 over the past decade for baseball-related charities.

The club members choose a venue for their annual tournament, playing in a different park each year and assisting different charities. This year, No Bats will come to Corpus Christi on Thursday to stage its annual four-day tournament at Whataburger Field.

The charity choice is close to the hearts of the Class AA Hooks -- the Miracle League, which builds ballparks to allow developmentally disabled children a chance to participate in the game. No Bats founder Ted Simendinger estimated between $35,000 and $50,000 would be raised by No Bats for that cause.

"If you've never seen a Miracle Field, and you see the kids running around, you'll have a lump in your throat," said original No Bats member Ted Darby, who provided the spark for No Bats to become a charitable one. "You get a big brother pushing them in a wheelchair along the bases and you see the joy and excitement on their faces. You'll have trouble trying to clear your throat."

No Bats originally had no such intentions. It was all about guys going out and playing the game they missed.

Simendinger was sitting at home before the 1991 baseball season. He was watching an interview with Bud Black, who had just signed a free agent contract with the San Francisco Giants. In the background, Simendinger saw the green grass and players clowning around during spring training.

Simendinger wanted to be a part of it again.

He contacted Dodgertown in Vero Beach, Fla., the spring training site of the Los Angeles Dodgers. Simendinger rented out the field for some of his buddies to come play a few games in the fall of 1991.

Simendinger told his friends and they, in turn, told their friends. Simendinger's coworkers at Xerox heard about it and wanted in, too. Darby's nephew heard of it and encouraged his uncle -- then in his mid-40s -- to try it. A little get-together had spread into a group of guys hanging out with the desire to put on the cleats and swing the bats one more time.

"I had 42 in for the first year," Simendinger said. "I'll have 46 or 48 coming to Corpus. Guys are able to come and go yearly depending on what's going on in their lives.

"There are four rules: No wives, no kids, no drugs, no arguing. I say no wives, no kids for a reason, because it's come to be a positive male-bonding retreat."

No Bats took a while to move beyond just being a male-bonding exercise and a chance to rehash glory days. Simendinger knew he was on to something when, the following March, he received a call from someone planning their vacation time. When, they wanted to know, would the event be staged this year?

For the first three years, No Bats was staged at Dodgertown. It moved to Cooperstown, N.Y. for a year, then back to Dodgertown and on to Phoenix in 1996.

It was taking a financial toll on Simendinger. People were coming in, playing and not chipping in to the pot. Expenses were mounting and Simendinger was taking a loss. So, it was either end No Bats or turn the financial management over to Darby.

Darby handled the money for 1997, the trip to Birmingham, Ala. Members needed to raise money or contribute something. At the end of the tournament, $1,200 remained. Instead of rolling it over for next year, Darby suggested a donation to a charity.

Rickwood Field in Birmingham was considered the oldest ballpark in the nation. A host of Negro League and big league stars -- Ty Cobb, Willie Mays and Satchel Paige among them -- had played there at times. The field also was getting run down. Darby suggested a contribution to friends of the park.

No Bats found its niche. Simendinger found his role.

"One of the club mottoes paraphrases Jackie Robinson," Simendinger said. "It goes, 'A man's life means nothing if it doesn't have an impact on others.' In the end, I wanted a positive legacy. Darb opened my eyes to that, what it could be.

"I didn't want to tell the guys what to believe in. I wanted to expose them to as many groups as possible, and that has happened. I wanted them to have the chance to do something important for others."

Over the next few years, the club contacted Major League players and related charities and set up the annual tournament at different parks. Members went out into their various communities and raised money for the causes.

The club next played in Alvin to benefit Nolan Ryan Charities in 1998. Then came a trip to Hertford, N.C., the boyhood home of former Major League star pitcher Jim "Catfish" Hunter, who was suffering from ALS, also known as Lou Gehrig's Disease.

Hunter died before the tournament. But the games went on, and a $37,500 check was presented to the Jimmy Catfish Hunter ALS Foundation.

Since then, games have been played in San Francisco, Chicago, Aberdeen, Mary., Round Rock, Phoenix and Bimini, Bahamas.

The Dave Dravecky Outreach of Hope for cancer amputees, Cubs Care, Cal Ripken Baseball, Negro League Veterans, the Randy Johnson Homeless Foundation and the island of Bimini itself were the diverse charities that benefitted.

Next up is the Miracle League.

Hooks president J.J. Gottsch first was involved with No Bats during the Round Rock trip, but the Ryan family had known of the club since its second charitable foray, that coming in Alvin.

In Round Rock, there was no established charitable cause. But the Ryans, Gottsch and No Bats worked together for Negro League veterans, contributing money and helping the older players get signed up for benefits that they were missing.

"I came across a story about the Negro League veterans that were dying off and weren't being taken care of by Major League Baseball," Gottsch said. "We decided to do that, and invited some of the players in and signed them up with the assistance program.

"From that point on, we really got involved with the club and where they were going and what they were doing. It was a neat thing for me -- none were great players, but they just loved the game. I thought it was neat that they got together and that they went to different places and they contributed to charities."

The charity has brought them together, even closer. Membership numbers in the hundreds. People as young as 21 have joined. Membership rolls extend to Russia and New Zealand.

And, now that the original members are getting older -- the oldest is 73 -- it also has become a way for old friends to keep tabs on one another.

"We started out as a bunch of guys in our 30s, and mortality is very inconvenient," Simendinger said. "We've buried our children, lost our wives, made fortunes and lost fortunes.

"If you're looking for the why, it matters to each man individually and collectively. When we get someone signing up for the program, it's the ultimate compliment. I'm proud of the circle of friends I have."

Darby no longer plays, but umpires after an injury suffered during a goodwill tour of China. He provided the original idea for the club to become a helping hand for charities.

But he still relishes the chance to get together with friends on the field.

"The first time it was guys going out, having fun, reliving youth, scratching, drinking beer, playing cards," Darby said. "We still do that, but just not as much as we used to."